


A Tale of Three Brothers

by Xavantina



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Bertrand is a thief, Can I make it anymore obvious?, Ernest is an assassin, M/M, Random & Short, basically it's just Bertrand interacting with the Denouement brothers in a fantasy setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25462075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xavantina/pseuds/Xavantina
Summary: Bertrand's relationship with the Denouements is a complicated affair, and it doesn't help that one of them is a fellow thief, the other an assassin, and the last is a noble apprentice at a magical college.A very short, very non-serious Skyrim AU.
Relationships: Bertrand Baudelaire/Ernest Denouement
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. The Shill Job

The air in the Bannered Mare grows thicker as the evening progresses, the smell of cooking meat and spilled mead mingling to become truly stifling, but Bertrand remains seated at the counter, ignoring the requests for a drinking game by the shady character next to him, and waits patiently for his mark to appear. 

The wizened old warrior finally enters, but Bertrand waits for another hour while the other man drinks and eats, establishing an alibi, in case he needs it (he never needs it). Then he slips off his stool and into the night.

The streets of Whiterun are empty apart from a few guards patrolling the Plains District. Bertrand makes his way through the city unseen with little to no effort, staying in the shadows and remaining invisible to even the most prying eyes.

He breaks only one lockpick getting inside the house, and soundlessly makes his way through the building, aiming for the bedroom and the strong box he knows will be on the dresser. Halfway there a noise behind him jerks him to attention, and he spins around, dagger already at the ready.

The assassin freezes, hand on his own weapon. The Dark Brotherhood uniform hides his face, but Bertrand would recognize those eyes anywhere.

“Ernest.”

The other man tugs down the cloth that covers the lower part of his face, smiling. “Bertrand.”

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you think?”

Bertrand frowns. “This is my mark. I have a stolen necklace to plant in here.”

“I guess your client didn’t trust you to be able to pull off the job,” Ernest says breezily. 

“The mark is out. There’s no reason for you to be here.”

Ernest fishes something out of a pouch at his waist. A small green vial. He shakes it a few times, showing it to be empty. “I poisoned a bottle of mead.”

Betrand frowns. “There are other people living here.” ‘You could poison any one of them’ remains unsaid.

“Yes, but she’s the only one with a love of Blackbriar Reserve.”

“She?” Betrand asks. 

Ernest frowns for a second, then grins. “Oh. Someone wants these people ruined in every conceivable way. One dead, one in jail. Nice.” 

Bertrand frowns. “There’s no reason to be happy about it.”

“Hey, we’re both getting paid, aren’t we? We’re both ruining lives. My methods just happen to be a bit more... _final_ than yours.”

He’s right, but that doesn’t mean Bertrand has to like it. Just like he doesn’t have to like how good Ernest looks in that form-fitting armor, all slim and agile, ready to put a dagger in your neck and disappear into the darkness the same second.

He’s almost too busy admiring it to notice Ernest stepping up to him, but he does notice, he just doesn’t move away. A glowed hand trails down the middle of his chest.

“This is some mighty fine leather,” Ernest remarks. “Moving up in the ranks, are you?”

“That’s none of your business, I think.”

Ernest pulls his hand back, a look of mock-offence on his face. “Easy now, I was just asking.”

Part of him does want to tell Ernest that he’s part of the leadership now, the part that likes showing off, but another urges him to keep that to himself. Ernest will no doubt bring this information back to his ‘family’, and you never know whether that will prove a problem in the future.

“There’s a very nice jeweled decanter on the shelf in their office,” Ernest casually tells him. “If you need the gold.”

It somehow comes off as an insult, the reminder that Bertrand steals for profit, but Ernest kills, so who is the real villain here? Certainly not him.

“I’ll see you around?” Ernest asks, sounding terribly optimistic.

“Hopefully not,” Bertrand replies.

Ernest sighs. “I suppose we shouldn’t.”

“Try not to kill any guards on your way out, it puts the others on edge.”

“I never kill guards,” Ernest says, and then has the audacity to wink. “Unless I absolutely have to.” And with that he’s off, sneaking out the doors and disappearing into the night.

Bertrand plants the stolen necklace in the strong box and picks up the jewelled decanter on his way out.


	2. The Cistern

Bertrand is brooding when he enters the Ragged Flagon. He makes a beeline for the bar, throwing a couple of gold coins on the counter. “Something strong,” he says.

Larry raises one eyebrow slightly, but the gravity of Bertrand’s mood apparently isn’t lost on him. He finds a bottle of Cyrodilic Brandy under the bar and pours it into a mug way too large for such a beverage. “Rough job?”

“Not as such,” Bertrand replies, grabs the mug and takes a whole mouthful. The brandy burns going down, but he ignores it, emptying the whole thing in a few gulps.

When he’s finished and put the mug down, he finds Larry’s demeanor has changed to concern. “What happened?”

Bertrand debates whether to tell him. He knows Larry and Ernest have a history, although he isn’t sure exactly what happened between them. Still, lying when being asked a straight question isn’t in Bertrand’s nature. “I ran into Ernest.”

For a brief second Larry’s face twists into an uncomfortable grimace, but then he manages to school his expression just as quickly. “Ah. I see.”

“Indeed,” Bertrand mutters.

“Was he... you know...”

“Killing someone?” Bertrand asks. “Yeah.”

Larry cannot keep from looking sickened by that. “I don’t suppose that’s very surprising.”

“Not really.”

“Are you going to tell Frank?”

He hadn’t even thought of that. Should he? Is it relevant to the Guild in any way? Not really, but wouldn’t it be wrong to not mention running into someone’s estranged brother?

“I suppose I should?”

Larry considers it. “I think you’re right. He probably won’t be pleased, but... lying to Frank wouldn’t lead to anything good.”

“It wouldn’t necessarily have to be lying. Just... not bringing it up.”

Larry gives him a lopsided smile. “Doesn’t sound like something you’d do.”

Sometimes he hates how most of his morals have remained intact, despite his current occupation. “I guess it doesn’t. Thanks, Larry.”

“You’re welcome.”

Bertrand doesn’t deny that he drags his feet as he walks into the Cistern, and when he sees Frank sitting at his desk, pouring over their ledgers, he feels like bolting. But Larry was right, lying to him won’t lead anywhere good. If he were to find out somehow... yeah, better be honest.

He pulls the jeweled decanter he stole out of his bag and puts it on Frank’s desk as a silent way of greeting.

Frank turns his attention from his paper work to the decanter. He picks it up and carefully turns it over in his hands, taking in the quality and no doubt silently counting gems. Finally he looks up at Bertrand. “It’s nice. Not what you were sent to do though.”

“I figured I could use the extra coin,” Bertrand says, noting to himself that he’s echoing Ernest’s words. “I completed the job as well, obviously.”

“Good.” Frank reaches for the lockbox he keeps on the desk, unlocks it, and pulls out a pouch of coins. “This is for the job,” he says. Then he pulls out another, pouring its content out on the table. He meticulously counts out a couple dozen pieces of gold, opens the first pouch, and adds them. “And that’s for the decanter.”

“Thank you,” Bertrand says quite automatically.

Frank lets out a little huff of breath that’s almost a snort. “You’re welcome.” He turns his attention back to the ledgers, writing something as the bottom of the page.

This is usually when Bertrand would leave, so when he doesn’t it takes Frank a few moments to notice he’s still standing there. “Anything else?” he asks.

“I, uh... ran into Ernest in Whiterun.”

Unlike Larry, Frank’s face remains perfectly neutral, unfathomable, at the mention of his brother. He puts down his quill. “Did you now?”

“Yes.”

“Still up to his old tricks?”

“If by ‘tricks’ you mean ‘poisoning people’, then yes.” That came out more bluntly than Bertrand had hoped.

The only reaction he notices from Frank is a momentary tightness around his mouth. “I see.” He looks away, adding, “Thank you for telling me.”

“I figured I should, because, you know, in his line of work, you never know,” Bertrand says, painfully aware that he’s about to start babbling. The brandy is starting to take effect, unfortunately, and alcohol always made Bertrand too loose-lipped. “He’s your brother, you’d want to know he’s alive, right? And-...”

“Yes, I would,” Frank interrupts. “So, as I said, I appreciate it.”

“He looked good.” Bertrand adds.

Frank’s right eyebrow climbs a bit. “’Good’?” he asks.

“You know,” Bertrand continues, realizing how that statement sounded a little too late. “Healthy.”

Frank obviously doesn’t buy that pathetic attempt at backpedaling, as Bertrand knew he wouldn’t, but he is gracious enough to not press the issue further. “I suppose that’s... good to know.”

“Yes, well...” Bertrand mutters, not knowing what to say now. “I’ll go see Beatrice about another job.” He turns to leave.

“Bertrand,” Frank calls him back. “There’s a job available in Winterhold.”

Bertrand puts two and two together immediately. “Should I... drop by the college?” ‘And let Dewey know’ remains unsaid.

“If you have the time.”

“I’ll make time.”

Frank nods. “Good. Thank you.”

He can’t remember the last time Frank thanked him so many times in such a short time span. It’s actually a little uncanny. “No problem.”

That seems to be the end of it, because Frank picks up his quill again and returns to his papers, so Bertrand goes to find Beatrice and his next job.


	3. The Bedlam Job

Bertrand steals everything of value he can from around the town (which, in a place as desolate as Winterhold, means ‘anything that isn’t nailed to the floor’) and heads to Enthir first, unloading all of his ill-gotten goods in exchange for a few of black soul gems. He can turn those over for a greater profit in other holds.

He gets plenty of dirty looks from the other students as he walks through the college, but Bertrand is used to that by now. And to be fair, he has stolen plenty from all of them on previous occasions, and just because he wasn’t caught red-handed, doesn’t mean they don’t have reason to rightfully suspect him.

Bertrand is exactly one step into the Arcanaeum when Urag gro-Shub’s gruff voice calls out from the distance, “Get out of here!”

“Easy now,” Bertrand says, holding up his hands in a placating gesture, despite knowing the old orc will probably not accept it. “I’m not looking for trouble.”

He’s right. “You stole the entire _Dance with Fire_ series the last time you were here,” the orc accuses.

Again, accurate. “I didn’t,” Bertrand insists, looking as innocent as a person wearing the thieves guild armor possibly can.

“It’s all right, Urag,” a pleasant voice says from behind the nearest bookshelf. Dewey appears, a couple of books in his arms. He looks so unassuming in his college robes, much less intimidating than Ernest in his black and red leathers, or Frank is his dark gray guild armor, but Bertrand knows not to be fooled. For one, Dewey is currently about to lie for him, and he’s going to do it with a perfectly straight face. “I told you I’m sure I mislaid them somehow.”

Urag snorts. “You’ve never lost a single book.”

Dewey gives the orc a wry smile. “No one is perfect.”

“He’s a _thief_ ,” Urag says, voice dripping with disdain.

“Well, in that case, I’ll watch him very closely while he’s here,” Dewey promises. Bertrand is impressed by how perfectly truthful his face is while he speaks, he should be the envy of every thief and assassin in all of Skyrim.

“If you insist, you can speak to him in your quarters, not here,” Urag growls.

Dewey doesn’t even sigh, he just smiles pleasantly and puts down the books he was holding on a table. “Of course. Come along, Bertrand.”

Bertrand ignores the way Urag glares at him as he turns and follows Dewey out of the library. Neither of the speak while Dewey leads him to his rooms in the Hall of Countenance. Once again Bertrand receives plenty of glares from the students on the way, and Dewey gets his fair share of suspicious looks, but he seems perfectly unfazed. 

Once they’re inside his room, Dewey drops the act as easily as one would drop a piece of stolen jewellery when caught by a guard, his face turning deadly serious. “What do you want? Is something wrong with the Guild? Is Frank all right?”

“Frank is fine,” Bertrand replies. “The Guild is fine. I was just in town and I thought I should drop in and...”

“Cut the bullshit.”

Dewey doesn’t usually swear, so Bertrand is momentarily stunned into silence. Then, knowing there’s no way around it, he says, “I saw Ernest in Whiterun. We figured you’d want to know. Frank and I.”

A number of emotions cross Dewey’s face, and while relief is among them, uncertainty is the one that settles. “So, he’s still alive.”

“Yes.”

“Is he... you know?”

“Still with the Dark Brotherhood,” Bertrand confirms. “And working.”

Dewey looks like Bertrand forced something sour into his mouth. “I see.”

Bertrand knows that Frank has more or less come to accept his brother’s choices since they parted ways, but Dewey isn’t there yet, that much is obvious. “He seemed in good spirits. Doing good.”

“Killing people,” Dewey says bitterly.

There’s really no getting around that fact. “Well... yes. But... he’s not dead.”

“I suppose that is a relief,” Dewey mutters. “All things considered. He’s lucky.”

“In his line of work, it’s more down to skill than luck, I think.”

Dewey smiles humorlessly. “Same with yours. I’m glad you’re doing well. You look... good.”

The irony of the fact that he told Frank the same about Ernest isn’t lost on Bertrand. Still, he can’t help but straighten and smile slightly. “Thank you. You look like you’re doing well, too.”

Dewey scoffs. “I’m hardly doing glamorous work here.”

“Neither are we,” Bertrand reminds him. “Or Ernest.”

“Obviously.”

Bertrand deflates. “I suppose we’re equally bad.”

“You’re really not,” Dewey says. “The Guild’s methods are dishonest and devious, sure, but at least no one ends up dead.”

“Most of the time.”

“Most of the time.”

Bertrand shuffles his feet, not knowing how to continue. Dewey comes to his rescue:

“Thank you for coming by and telling me.”

“Of course,” he answers. “You deserve to know.”

Dewey turns towards his closet, and while Bertrand frowns, he opens it and starts rummaging through the bottom shelf. A few seconds later he pulls out a book with a worn leather cover. He hands it to Bertrand, who opens it, reading the title on the first page; _Three Thieves._

“I thought you might like this one,” Dewey explains, looking a bit bashful suddenly.

“You stole it from upstairs?” Bertrand asks.

“There are thousand of books in the Arcanaeum,” Dewey says. “He only noticed the _Dance with Fire_ series was missing because you’d been there earlier and he went looking. I took this one months ago, and he didn’t notice.”

“You stole it for me?” Bertrand asks, undeniably flattered. “In case I came by?”

“I figured someone like you could always use another lesson in sneaking,” Dewey replies, and his cheeks are actually growing red.

Bertrand ignores that fact, slipping the book into his bag. “I could. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dewey replies. “Really. Don’t.”

“As you wish.”

“Tell Frank I’m doing well,” Dewey says then. “I know he worries. Although he’d never admit it.”

Bertrand smiles. “You’re right. He won’t. But I’ll tell him.”

“Thank you. And if you meet Ernest again...”

Bertrand nods. “I’ll do the same.”

Dewey exhales loudly. “Good.”

“Goodbye, Dewey,” Bertrand says.

Dewey unexpectedly reaches out and puts his hand on Bertrand’s shoulder. “Be careful out there.”

Bertrand’s jaw tightens a little. He suddenly feels very guilty. “I will.” And with that he leaves Dewey in his room, staying in the shadows when he sneaks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might revisit this story at a later date, with a more substantial plot to back it up.


End file.
